GrimmUlqui "This Time Around" Part Two
Please heed the warnings and rating. ♥
Title: This Time Around
Series: Bleach
Pairings/Characters: GrimmUlqui, Noitora/Ulquiorra <--[NONCON]
Word Count: 7,261
Rated: NC-17
Parts: [1] [ 2] [ 3]
Notes: Part 2 of 3.
THIS TIME AROUND
Part Two
Ulquiorra was sitting at the kitchen table reading a book when Grimmjow came in through the back door. He smelled of cigarette smoke and wore a sharp grin as he always did after a good shift at work. A week ago, Grimmjow had gotten hired as something called a “bouncer” at a bar in midtown and he loved it. Ulquiorra was sure it was because he was allowed manhandle the patrons when they got out of hand. Still, it was an outlet for the other man’s constant and reckless adrenaline. He was less irritating when he got to punch someone.
“You still readin’ that shit?” the former Sexta Espada asked by way of greeting, ambling over to the refrigerator to get himself a can of beer. That was another thing he had discovered while on the job - alcohol. Ulquiorra didn’t care for it. He also found the little metal tabs impossible to open.
“You’re fortunate Amra isn’t awake to hear that,” Ulquiorra replied impassively, flipping another page. “She would wash your mouth out with soap.”
She’d tried to do it once already but Grimmjow had slithered out of her hold and escaped down the street. He hadn’t returned until the next day.
As if remembering the near horror, Grimmjow shook himself and took a swig of his beer, no doubt to wash the phantom taste of lye out of his mouth. Grimmjow had grown to tolerate their benefactor - they both had - but Grimmjow seemed to see her as more of an overpowering wench. Ulquiorra found her to be rather harmless.
But then again he didn’t use “language” in her presence either.
“What’s it about?” Grimmjow asked, jerking his head at the book and changing the subject. He leaned back against the sink, blue eyes watching calmly. He had refused to learn the difficult writing of the region with its many characters, claiming he didn’t need it, but he always seemed interested in the things Ulquiorra read - or tried to. The former Cuatro Espada could read simple sentences, but anything more than five symbols confused him and that was one of the more annoying human emotions he seemed to be cultivating. He didn’t like the off balance feeling it gave him, as if he couldn’t see correctly. Grimmjow told him it was only to be expected, since a great deal of Ulquiorra’s power had been centered around his eyesight. Even now, in their new, pathetic bodies, his memory was photographic. If he saw it, he could recall it.
“A dog,” Ulquiorra answered evenly. Grimmjow’s lips curled. He hated dogs.
Silence fell then, not uncomfortably. They had grown used to each other in the weeks since they’d come to live with Amra. The strange tension that connected them had subsided a bit, becoming more of a heightened awareness of the other, tempered and almost instinctive. It had been a little uncomfortable at first, but now Ulquiorra barely noticed that he knew without looking when Grimmjow had entered the room. If Grimmjow had the same sort of knowledge, he never said. Ulquiorra counted it as just another odd thing attributed to his new status as a human being.
“I think I saw someone at the bar tonight,” Grimmjow said finally, a reluctant note in his voice. Ulquiorra glanced up at the sound of it. It wasn’t often that Grimmjow hesitated over anything.
“Who?”
The other man set his beer can down on the countertop. “I think it was Noitora.”
Ulquiorra stilled, unprepared for the answer. He had not thought of the other Espada in almost a week. Trying to be human was a taxing process, he hadn’t been able to focus on anything else. Now, though, their past rose up before him like a tidal wave and he felt suddenly drained, as empty as he had been that first day in the rain.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his book, green eyes flickering to Grimmjow again.
“You think,” he repeated. Grimmjow crossed his arms over his chest.
“It was dark,” he said defensively, “I only caught a glimpse, but I’m pretty sure it was him. There’s not too many bastards runnin’ around here with only one eye.” He watched Ulquiorra’s face for a moment before shrugging with just the right amount of carelessness. “He didn’t see me, and even if he did, he’s human now, right? He was in that room along with the rest of us.” He grinned suddenly. “I could take that nosy shit.”
Ulquiorra didn’t reply. There was a new feeling in his gut, a clenching that told him Noitora’s presence at the bar hadn’t been coincidence. How could it have been? The city was large and a former Espada happened to come across the very place Grimmjow worked? Worst of all, it was Noitora, the arrancar who stalked shadows at night and questioned and listened where he shouldn’t be listening. Ulquiorra had not trusted him as an Espada and he did not trust him now as a man.
And if Noitora was in the city, how many others were there? They had all been in that room. Were Aizen and Gin and Tousen still alive or had they been captured by Soul Society? All this time, he and Grimmjow had been living as if everything they had known had been destroyed. They could not go back to Hueco Mundo, not as humans, even if there was something left. With the Hougyoku destroyed, Aizen’s plans had been cast into ruin. It had seemed best, at the time, that he and Grimmjow adapt to their new existence.
Unfortunately, he could not see Noitora doing the same.
“Oi.” Grimmjow was looking at him, eyebrows drawn together. “What are ya thinkin’?”
Ulquiorra stood up silently and tucked his book under his arm. “Nothing. I’m going to sleep.” That was another thing he couldn’t get used to - his body’s need for more than four hours of sleep. It was extremely wasteful.
Grimmjow let him go without an argument and Ulquiorra’s shoulders relaxed.
He didn’t want to explain that, for a moment, he’d almost believed that they were free.
Grimmjow woke to the old Granny poking him in the ribs with her cane.
“Time to be up, dear!” she said with a crinkly smile, “The sun’s been up for hours and we’ve got to get that new mulch around my rosebushes!”
She hobbled out of the room, apparently satisfied that she’d ruined any chance of him going back to sleep. Grimmjow groaned and rubbed his eyes, feeling rather stubborn and uncooperative. Didn’t she know he worked at night? He’d only gone to bed five hours ago!
Grumbling about crotchety old women, he rose blearily from his futon not bothering to glance at Ulquiorra’s. The smaller man never slept more than hour past sunrise, his futon always folded and packed away neatly by the time Grimmjow opened his eyes. He never said anything but Grimmjow knew the former Fourth had a hard time sleeping. Grimmjow found that alcohol worked wonders for that sort of thing.
“I’ve made you some nice bacon and eggs,” Amra chirped at him as he stumbled into the kitchen and he immediately perked up. He’d discovered quickly that, despite her horrible nature, Granny was a good cook. She had quickly discovered what they liked and what they didn’t. Grimmjow was particularly easy to please. Anything with meat in it was good for him.
“Where’s Ulquiorra?” he asked as he took a seat, already shoveling eggs into his mouth. She smiled proudly at him, probably pleased that he’d used a fork.
“I just sent him down to the market. You can probably catch him if you hurry. He might need help carrying the bags back. He’s such a skinny little thing!” She chuckled, the sound as fond as if she’d given birth to him herself. “Would you remind him that we need more milk as well? I think I forgot to put it on the list.”
Forcing himself not to sigh (he was escaping rosebush duty after all), Grimmjow finished his breakfast and went to get dressed, still pulling on his shirt as he went out the back door, crossing the lawn towards the street. The market was only a few blocks away but it was packed as always, children running around, playing in front of carts filled with food and flowers. Grimmjow rather enjoyed the atmosphere - though the lack of brats underfoot would have made him happier - and walked around a little before spotting Ulquiorra in front of an array of vegetables. He was selecting tomatoes as if he actually knew what he was doing, and maybe he did. Amra had been teaching him all sorts of things lately.
“Hey,” he said, stopping next to him. Ulquiorra didn’t look up, running his fingertips over a ripe tomato skin.
“What are you doing here?”
“The witch told me to tell ya we need milk,” he relayed grumpily, trying to figure how Ulquiorra was deciding which tomatoes to put into a paper sack. They all looked red to him.
Ulquiorra straightened and glanced across the street towards the dairy stand. “Here,” he said, and handed Grimmjow a few paper bills.
Grimmjow’s eyebrows rose. “You want me ta get it?”
Ulquiorra started at him, expressionless. “Why not?”
“Ya know I’m not good with this stuff,” he grumbled, turning the money this way and that as if it might suddenly make sense. He didn’t understand the counting system in that place. Ulquiorra was the one who could do sums in his head and read prices.
“It’s enough,” the dark-haired man said, turning back to his vegetables. “They’ll give you change.”
Muttering to himself, Grimmjow waited for the sign to cross and headed over for a gallon of milk. Ulquiorra was, of course, right and he got some back. He was tempted to try a buy another pack of beer with the leftover money but hell if he was going to ask Ulquiorra if he had enough. The former Fourth had taken one sip of beer and given Grimmjow a glare cold enough to melt iceburgs. Ulquiorra had stuck to tea ever since.
Grimmjow walked back to the street corner, two fingers through the loops of the plastic bag, and found Ulquiorra waiting for him on his side of the street, a paper bag of various food items in his arms.
“Waitin’ for me?” Grimmjow drawled, grinning. Ulquiora gave him a flat look.
“Hardly. I came to make sure you didn’t buy any beer.”
Grimmjow scowled and tried to look offended. He was sure Ulquiorra didn’t buy it.
They stood together and waited for the signal to cross back over, Grimmjow suddenly hyper aware of the small figure next to him. It was still strange to see Ulquiorra in human clothes, his ink-black hair uncovered by the lack of a mask, his pale cheeks free of the tearful lines. Grimmjow hated to admit it, even to himself, but his once superior was very easy on the eyes. Humans seemed to think so, too. Not less than a half a dozen girls had approached him in the weeks they had been there, flirting not so subtly. Ulquiorra was usually oblivious to these attempts but Grimmjow was a little better about reading such things. He didn’t need any book to tell him what those girls wanted.
Next to him, Ulquiorra moved forward, stepping down off the curb.
Grimmjow had sent the little human females on their way, naturally. They didn’t need that fucking up their lives. They had plenty of shit doing that al-
A horn honked and Grimmjow’s attention snapped back to reality, a scene in which Ulquiorra was stepping out into a street where traffic was not going to stop. The light hadn’t changed yet.
Something tightened in Grimmjow’s chest, and he reached out quickly, grabbing Ulquiorra’s elbow and yanking him harshly out of the path of a blaring taxi. Ulquiorra’s slight body fell heavily against his side and the paper bag of groceries fell to the sidewalk, miraculously remaining upright.
Grimmjow took two seconds to start breathing again before exploding angrily.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he snapped, still gripping Ulquiorra’s elbow. Ulquiorra looked up at him and Grimmjow could see that he was startled by the near miss, a little bewildered. Grimmjow probably should have let it go then but the incident had made his heart start pounding and he couldn’t think over the sound of it in his ears. “Are you a fuckin’ idiot? You coulda been-“
He cut off as Ulquiorra regained control of himself, pulling his arm from Grimmjow’s grip. “I’m not an idiot,” he said icily, bending to pick up the fallen bag. “There were people walking.”
There probably had been. A few humans would to dart out if they saw an opportunity. Grimmjow couldn’t gauge things like that so he always waited for the light to tell him when to cross. That had been one of the first things Amra had taught him, one of the less annoying ones.
The light did flash then and Ulquiorra crossed without waiting for him, leaving Grimmjow to catch up, still furious without really knowing why.
They walked the rest of the way back in silence.
Grimmjow didn’t see Ulquiorra for the next two days. He took longer shifts at the bar and so by the time he got back, the other man was already asleep, and when he rose in the morning, Ulquiorra was already out, usually at the library. He wasn’t exactly sure why they were avoiding each other but he knew it had to do with the weird tension that had resurfaced, the way he had gripped Ulquiorra’s elbow to pull him back to safety.
It was frustrating the hell out of him.
And then there were the dreams.
For the last two nights he’d had dreams of ebony hair and lidded green eyes, the feel of smooth skin against his. That day on the street replied in his mind’s eye, only when Ulquiorra fell against him he could feel every angle of the other man’s body and Ulquiorra’s eyes were filled with a dark, heated lust.
It was driving him bloody insane.
So on the third day, he sought Ulquiorra out.
After work he went to the library, which he knew was open twenty-four hours because Amra had told him. There was a minor setback when he saw how large the place was but he set out along the first floor, looking down the aisles and aisles of books for one familiar form.
He eventually found Ulquiorra on the second floor, where the aisles were not so close together and there were ladders that slid along the tall bookcases, everything made of dark, polished wood. He was sitting on one of the ladders, one leg drawn up on one of the rungs, the other straight out, his foot a couple inches from the floor.
Suprisingly, Grimmjow didn’t have to say word. Ulquiorra looked up from the book in his hands the moment he appeared, as if he’d somehow known that Grimmjow was there. His eyes were bright in the dim lighting of the room, one of the buttons on his shirt undone in concession to the warm temperature.
They stared at each other for a long, strained minute, neither backing down. The air between them fizzled and Grimmjow thought he felt electricity run along his skin. Then he was crossing the room in long, sure strides, planting his hands on either side of the ladder, locking Ulquiorra between them.
“Fuck this,” he growled, and leaned down and kissed him.
Grimmjow didn’t think about it, he simply pushed his mouth against Ulquiorra’s, his hands gripping the ladder on either side of the smaller man’s head. It was a hard kiss and Ulquiorra made a sound in his throat, trapped as he was against its rungs.
But he did not jerk his head away and Grimmjow slanted his body closer, one hand leaving the side of the ladder to thread through Ulquiorra’s charcoal hair, soft strands trapped between his fingers. Grimmjow ran his tongue along Ulquiorra’s lips and felt them open, giving him access to the moist cavern of Ulquiorra’s mouth. The kiss turned into something else then, something more fierce, and Ulquiorra’s book fell to the floor as one of the man’s hands curled around Grimmjow’s neck, the other gripping the front of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric.
Their lips moved against one another’s as their tongues danced, Ulquiorra’s breath warm and quick against Grimmjow’s cheek. The smaller man was completely pressed against the ladder, the rungs against his back as Grimmjow closed the remaining space between them, his body pressed between Ulquiorra’s legs. Grimmjow’s right hand moved of its own accord, running down over Ulquiorra’s bony hip to the hem of his shirt and underneath, hitching the fabric up so that he could touch the incredibly smooth skin of his stomach. Ulquiorra gasped at the feel of his fingers, breaking their kiss, and Grimmjow slipped his mouth down to the other man’s neck, lavishing the equally soft skin there with his tongue.
“Grimmjow.” Ulquiorra’s voice was almost nonexistent and he had both hands tangled in Grimmjow’s bright hair, his neck tilted just enough to give Grimmjow better access. Grimmjow nuzzled against Ulquiorra’s collar, nudging the material aside in order to suck and nip on his clavicle. Ulquiorra’s breath hitched and Grimmjow felt his cock harden at the erotic sound, his erection against Ulquiorra’s thigh.
“Grimmjow,” Ulquiorra said again, his name this time accompanied by a jerk on his hair to get his attention. Grimmjow groaned, his mind too fuzzy to stop.
“What?” he mumbled, moving the hand inside Ulquiorra’s shirt down to grab the smaller man’s ass. This time, Grimmjow felt the evidence of Ulquiorra’s burgeoning erection and felt his own body temperature rise in answer. Fuck but he had never felt so good.
“We can’t…” Ulquiorra broke off as Grimmjow licked his ear, his tongue dipping inside the delicate shell. His reward was another breathless sound from Ulquiorra and Grinnjow grinned, moving his lips to the sensitive skin behind his ear. The lithe body beneath him shuddered deliciously but Ulquiorra somehow found the strength to protest again, his dark voice no longer stiff and in control. “Not here, Grimmjow…”
Grimmjow groaned again, knowing he was right. The library was hardly private and there were things Grimmjow really wanted to do to Ulquiorra that were for no one’s eyes but their own.
With a tremendous effort of will, he dropped his head into the curve of Ulquiorra’s neck, not teasing the skin there but simply giving himself a moment. His body was screaming at him in rebellion, wanting nothing more than to fuck Ulquiorra right there against that ladder no matter who might see them. He could feel Ulquiorra breathing heavily beneath him, too, his fingers resting lightly on the back of Grimmjow’s neck.
Grimmjow took another minute to think about ice and cold showers and those penguin-things Ulquiorra had read about once.
When they finally broke apart, Ulquiorra straightened his clothes and Grimmjow bent and picked up his fallen book, handing it back to him and clearing his throat. Their fingers brushed as it passed between them.
They walked together out of the library a little faster than was normal and the entire way Grimmjow never stopped grinning.
The awkward tension that had plagued them for days was gone.
When they got to the house, however, things didn’t go according to plan.
Just as they were rounding the corner to the back yard, Grimmjow so filled with anticipation he could hardly think straight, they heard the sound of glass shattering and someone running on the sidewalk. Then Amra’s voice cried out and Ulquiorra broke into a run, Grimmjow only a step behind. How much easier it would have been if they could have used sonido. As it was, they reached the house just as a dark figure burst out onto the street, took one look at them, and ran the other way.
Ulquiorra didn’t so much as pause, but ran after the intruder, a slim, silent shape in the night. Grimmjow had a moment of indecision before he turned into the yard and took the steps two at a time, bursting through the back door, ready for a fight.
There was glass in the kitchen, scattered over the countertops from the window above the sink. A brick lay on the floor and Grimmjow grit his teeth at the sight of it, his hands curling into fists.
“Oi!” he called, “Granny!”
It took a second but he heard her answer, feeble and upset, “Grimmjow?”
He found her in her bedroom. The bastards had knocked her down and she had glass in her hair but was otherwise in one piece. He pulled her to her feet, his voice rock hard.
“Who was it?”
“Two men,” she said, her voice quavering. “They broke the window in the kitchen. It startled me so bad…” She trailed off, a hand over her chest as if it pained her. “The back door wasn’t locked… They came right in…”
Grimmjow had heard enough. Two, she’d said.
He pivoted and left her there, heading towards the back room when someone hurtled out of the bathroom and he crashed against the far wall. There was a hot, swift of line of pain down his arm and he pushed the guy away with a roar. Blood dripped down Grimmjow’s fingers but he ignored it, using his other to punch the bastard in the face, watching him fall back with satisfaction.
“You son of a bitch,” he yelled, punctuating the last word with a kick to the intruder’s stomach. The guy, all in black and with a ski mask over his face, coughed and tried to kick out at him as well. Grimmjow stomped down on his ankle with all his weight and heard something snap, the guy screaming even as he swung his arm around and pointed a gun at Grimmjow’s chest.
Grimmjow had watched enough television to know what it was. He flung himself to the side, sliding across the wooden floor into the spare bedroom just as the gun went off, the report inhumanly loud in his ears. Amra wailed at the sound and the guy ran past the bedroom door, limply slightly, the gun still in his hand. The back door opened and slammed shut but Grimmjow didn’t follow. He knew hands and fists and the cool blades of swords, not guns.
Instead, he picked himself up and went back to Amra, the old lady gasping when she saw the long cut on his arm.
“They hurt you,” she said, and she sounded so honestly grieved over it that he shifted uncomfortably.
“It ain’t bad,” he said dismissively. “You?”
“I’m alright.” Her eyes flickered up to his worriedly. “Where’s Orra?”
Grimmjow’s stomach sank. He’d let Ulquiorra go alone, forgetting that they were no longer the fourth and sixth Espada, but ordinary humans with no amazing powers or strength. The gun had brought everything into perfect clarity, however. Ulquiorra who, just a few days ago had almost been hit by a car, could be just as easily hurt as Grimmjow had been. Why hadn’t he gone with him?
“Shit.”
He turned, ready to head out and search the streets for the other man, when he heard footsteps on the back stairs and the door opened again. A few seconds later, Ulquiorra appeared, stopping at the end of the hallway when he noticed Grimmjow. His green eyes went immediately to his wounded hand.
“You’re bleeding,” he said quietly. Grimmjow gave a strange laugh born of relief and incredulity. Ulquiorra didn’t have a mark on him.
“Bastard cut me with a knife,” he answered, still staring at the other man. Ulquiorra came to him then and all of Grimmjow’s muscles relaxed as he neared, the other man’s gaze shifting into the room to Amra. She smiled crookedly to his unspoken question.
“I’m alright.” She shuffled towards them, tsking in her usual manner over Grimmjow’s arm. “We’ll need to get that stitched up and…” she faltered, tilted her head back to eye the bullet hole in the ceiling, “…the police…”
Ulquiorra spoke, quietly, controlled. “You call the police, Amra. I will take Grimmjow to the hospital.”
She nodded immediately, seeming relieved to leave the decisions up to him. “Of course, Orra. You’re absolutely right. I’ll just see about…” She trailed off again, moving into the kitchen to use the phone. Grimmjow kept his eyes on Ulquiorra, watching him carefully.
“You have something to tell me,” he stated. Ulquiorra turned away.
“Follow me.”
They went out the front, crossing the lawn silently. They were about four blocks from the hospital when Ulquiorra finally spoke.
“It was Noitora,” he said dully. Grimmjow felt something hot spike behind his eyes.
“What?”
“I saw him,” Ulquiorra continued. “I chased him five blocks. He wasn’t wearing a mask. I saw his face in the street lights.” He had gotten away, of course. Grimmjow could tell by the stiff way Ulquiorra was speaking, frustrated with their helplessness.
“Then the guy in the house…” Grimmjow started. Ulquiorra finished for him.
“Was most likely another Espada.”
Grimmjow shook his head. “What the fuck are they up to?” he growled. Ulquiorra had no answer for him.
The hospital on that side of town was rather small and the emergency room was crowded. The two of them were jostled by mothers with sick kids and people holding their stomachs while old folks coughed and hacked. Grimmjow left Ulquiorra sitting in a plastic chair next to a window while he went up front to the important looking nurse behind a desk. She bombarded him with paperwork and questions and he came back to Ulquiorra with only one important piece of information.
“It’s gonna be awhile.”
It didn’t really bother him. The cut burned a little but the blood had clotted and was no longer leaving a trail on the floor. Something flickered in Ulquiorra’s eyes at the news, however, and he got up and disappeared the way Grimmjow had come. He was back in five minutes and nodded at Grimmjow.
“They’re ready for you.”
Grimmjow flashed his teeth in a grin and followed the smaller man into the back, wondering just what exactly Ulquiorra had said or done to get him moved to the head of the line.
There was a lot of fussing and preparation, and the nurse cleaned the wound with something that made him hiss. They gave him a shot and poked at the long cut for awhile before sewing the skin together.
Thirteen stitches. An unlucky number, someone said. Grimmjow snorted.
It suited him just fine.
Ulquiorra stood outside the exam room while Grimmjow was being seen to. He didn’t like the sterile smell of the place or the never-ending white. It reminded him of a desolate world made of sand and alabaster stone, of shadowed halls and would-be gods. The last few days he’d discovered that he preferred fresh air and the ability to decide for himself where to go, what to do. It was a priceless thing to be able to choose his own destiny.
The one consolation to being trapped in a body that was less than he was.
“Excuse me, have you seen my wife?”
Ulquiorra turned his head only slightly, one green eye taking in the thin, transparent outline of the man next to him. He was relatively young, dressed in a suit and wearing glasses. He was looking at Ulquiorra hopefully.
Ulquiorra closed his eyes. “No,” he answered, I haven’t.”
Only when he felt the ghost pass by did he open his eyes again, keeping them trained on the pale, tiled floor. It was not the first time he had seen a spirit. The library had quite a few in some of its more dusty corners. He seen them the moment he’d entered the hospital as well, littering the emergency room like remnants of memories. He supposed it was logical that his reiatsu was high enough to see souls, given his background. It was strange, though, that Grimmjow could not. Of if he had, that he hadn’t mentioned it before.
High levels of spiritual power were also a magnet for Hollows.
And where Hollows went, so did shinigami.
The door opened behind him and Grimmjow came out looking irritable, as always. His arm was wrapped and cleaned and he seemed himself again.
“What a pain,” he grumbled as they left, picking at the edge of his bandages. “All that fuss for a scratch.”
“Leave it alone,” Ulquiorra advised flatly, “You’re going to make it worse.”
Grimmjow glared at him but dropped his hand away from it, walking in silence with him down the sidewalk. It was a quiet time of night, the sound of traffic in the distance, the beat of their shoes against the concrete. Ulquiorra found himself remembering what had happened in the library, Grimmjow pressing him against the ladder, hot and insistent. Ulquiorra had been surprised but the feeling had quickly dissolved and he’d known that that moment had been building up between them.
The heat of that encounter had been banked for now with the events of the night. They arrived at the house to find that the police had come and gone, that Amra had gone to bed. They followed her example, unrolling their futons and bringing out blankets. Grimmjow took his shirt off before lying down and Ulquiorra averted his eyes, dropping down on top of his sheets with a quiet sigh.
“They know where we are now,” Grimmjow said eventually, his eyes closed, his voice pitched low. It was ridiculously easy for him to fall asleep these days. “They’ll be back.”
Ulquiorra rested his head on his arm, shifting slightly. “We will be ready,” he returned, feeling like his old self in that instant, utterly sure that he was correct.
The hard lump of the knife in his pocket helped.
Ulquiorra was alone in the house when Grimmjow’s prediction came true.
Amra had gone to the doctor. Ulquiorra had walked with her to the bus stop and she had patted him on the arm in goodbye, telling him she’d be back in a couple of hours. He’d returned to make himself a cup of tea and struggle through the last half of Tom Sawyer. His reading was getting better but it was still painfully slow at times. Tom had just gotten lost in the cave when a shadow fell over the dog-eared pages and he looked up, blinking slowly as he always did when someone interrupted him reading.
Noitora was standing in the doorway.
He was smiling, dressed in regular human clothes with a cloth patch over one eye. He stepped inside casually, never taking his eyes off Ulquiorra, his expression that of a predator’s.
“Good afternoon, Ulquiorra-san.”
Every muscle in Ulquiorra’s body tensed and in a split second he threw his cup of tea straight at the other man’s face, and reached for the knife he always kept in his pocket. Noitora dodged the flying cup and it shattered against the far wall behind him. He then launched himself over the table at Ulquiorra, knocking them both backwards and making the table collapse.
The back of Ulquiorra’s chair hit the floor and his head hit the bottom of the cupboards, dazing him long enough for Noitora to get on top of him. The former fifth Espada grinned wildly as he trapped Ulquiorra’s arms against the floor, tying his wrists together with a rope he took out of his jacket.
“I’ve been planning this for a long time,” Noitora told him, his fingers tightening the knots. “Back before we were cast into this miserable place. I thought it was too good to be true when I saw Grimmjow in that bar and learned you were with him.” He laughed, a harsh sound. “I never would have thought you’d be the type to submit.”
Ulquiorra’s vision was clearing. The knife was still in his pocket. With a huff of effort, he rolled, pushing Noitora off of him and kicking out at the other man at the same time. Noitora backed up and Ulquiorra was able to get to his hands and knees before Noitora came back, punching him in the side while gripping Ulquiorra’s tied hands.
Ulquiorra sagged against him, his knees buckling from the hard blow, the breath rushing from his lungs. Noitora laughed again and dragged him from the room still gasping for air. The other man took him to the bathroom, pushing him down with enough force to make his head smack against the cold tiles and locking the door behind him. Then he was straddling Ulquiorra’s waist and leaning over to tie his hands to one of the drainage pipes coming out of the wall, tightening the rope until Ulquiorra felt the coarse strands break his skin, blood welling along his wrists. Noitora’s tongue licked his cheek, his breath smelling of old wine.
“How does it feel, Cuatro?” Noitora said the former rank with a sneer. “You used to think yourself so far above me. How does it feel to be underneath me now, helpless and weak?”
There was a growing bulge in Noitora’s pants and the feel of it chased the last of the fuzziness from Ulquiorra’s mind. He stared up at Noitora icily, ignoring the rapid fluttering of his heart that almost hurt it was beating so fast. Noitora was much taller than him but he was just as lanky as Ulquiorra. Why did the other man have so much more strength?
“No, Noitora,” he replied, “It was you who thought yourself so far below me. You were embarrassed of your rank, just as you were an embarrassment to the Espada.”
Noitora hissed, his single eye narrowing angrily. “I would not say such things if I were in your position,” he snapped. “I think it’s time you were taught a lesson.”
Still straddling him, Noitora reached down and hitched up Ulquiorra’s shirt with the concentration of someone who was finally getting a well-deserved revenge. He ran a long-fingered hand over the smooth skin of Ulquiorra’s stomach, his mouth widening into a horrible smile. He chuckled.
“Such a pretty little human, aren’t you?” he said.
Then he was pulling down the zipper of Ulquiorra’s jeans, his hand reaching in to stroke Ulquiorra’s cock. The former fourth Espada jerked and shifted away, straining the ropes binding him. The other man growled in annoyance and slapped him, turning his head sharply to the right. But Ulquiorra was very aware of what was happening now.
In retaliation, he brought his knee up, slamming his kneecap into Noitora’s kidney. The other man bent over, groaning, but he kept his position, leaning back to let his full weight trap Ulquiorra’s legs. His fist landed square against Ulquiorra’s newly exposed abdomen and Ulquiorra gasped, trying to curl inwards but unable to with Noitora’s on top of him. Dizzy and hurting, he barely felt Noitora divest him of his jeans, pushing them down past his knees with impatient hands. Then went his underwear and he was abruptly lying half-naked on the cold, dusty bathroom floor with Noitora smirking above him.
The other man lifted himself just enough to reach back and pry Ulquiorra’s legs apart, settling himself between pale thighs, his hand going for his own zipper. He moved quickly and Ulquiorra tried to knee him again but his feet were caught in his jeans. Noitora was already hard, the exhilaration of the struggle enough to get him excited. He put two fingers in his mouth and sucked on them, lavishing them with saliva until they were dripping wetly. Ulquiorra felt a tendril of nausea rising in the back of his throat.
“You know,” Noitora said, leaning down to fumble at Ulquiorra’s entrance, “you should thank me. This would really hurt otherwise.” He stabbed his fingers inside in one, cruel jerk and Ulquiorra bit down on his tongue, his mouth filling with blood. The invading digits moved, scissoring back and forth, and Ulquiorra’s lower body burned with discomfort and pain. He stiffened and tried to twist away but Noitora grabbed his hip and pushed down on him more heavily, holding him captive. The other man soon added a third finger and Ulquiorra could not stop the small sound that escaped him, born of pain and anger. Noitora laughed.
“It’s only what you deserve,” he said, his voice somehow hot and cold at once. “Aizen’s precious little arrancar. You’re not so special now, are you?”
Then Noitora leaned over and Ulquiorra could feel him pressing his cock inside, pushing against the natural tightness of Ulquiorra’s body. Ulquiorra forced himself not to make a sound, to glare with cold fury as his enemy moved within him, Ulquiorra’s thighs trembling with the effort it took not to scream.
Noitora had no compunctions about voicing his pleasure. He groaned with every push, practically panting as he forced himself as deep as he could, his fingers gripping the bones of Ulquiorra’s pelvis hard enough to bruise. He stopped only a moment to catch his breath and then he lifted Ulquiorra’s left leg awkwardly for better access and withdrew only to push in again, this time with more violence.
Ulquiorra choked, his eyes wide as he stared at the cracked ceiling, his impeccable vision turning gray at the edges. It might have been a blessing to pass out, but he was too much of a soldier to take the easy path. He lay there silently, grunting every now and then with the growing force of Noitora’s thrusts. The other man ignored him, intent on the ecstasy overtaking his new body, on proving his superiority. He groaned and panted and once leaned down to lavish Ulquiorra’s thin chest with his tongue, lapping and biting at his nipples.
Ulquiorra let him, knowing that everything, all of it, was just a power play. Noitora was just as confused as the rest of them. He had always wanted to defeat Ulquiorra and, since he had never been able to accomplish that as an Espada, he was trying to do it now as a human being.
Ulquiorra despised him.
“You are trash,” Ulquiorra whispered, the words lost on Noitora who was deep in the throes of his pitiful mortal body. He was moving quicker and quicker, thrusting with wild abandon. Ulquiorra felt an answering heat in his own stomach but it was dull and half-hearted against the continuous hum of pain.
Soon enough, Noitora stiffened and made a strangled noise as warmth spilled into Ulquiorra’s body. The other man pulled out, leaking over Ulquiorra’s thigh, and collapsed against his chest, lethargic in his satisfaction. He laughed after a moment, the sound grating on Ulquiorra’s nerves.
“Who knew you were such a great fuck? No wonder Aizen spent so much time with you.”
Ulquiorra kept his gaze on the ceiling. Aizen had touched him before, that was true, but he had never done what Noitora had. He had never tried to overpower him, force him to submit. Ulquiorra had been loyal to him because of that.
“Are you ignoring me, Cuatro?” Noitora leaned up, his mocking face filling up his field of vision. Ulquiorra had no choice but to focus on him as Noitora’s mouth pressed over his, his tongue sloppily forcing its way between Ulquiorra’s teeth.
The former fourth Espada didn’t waste a moment in biting down on the foreign tongue, watching with satisfaction as Noitora pulled away with a muffled howl, one hand over his mouth as his eyes glared murderously.
Whatever he might have said or done was interrupted as someone called out from the front of the house
“Oi! Ulquiorra?.”
A tendril of fear moved across Noitora’s face and the other man hurriedly straightened his clothes, zipping up his pants and then disentangling himself from Ulquiorra. Surprisingly, he then pulled Ulquiorra’s jeans back up haphazardly, as if he didn’t want Grimmjow to know what he had done.
“You’re afraid of him,” Ulquiorra said, in a flash of understanding. Noitora managed a glare for him but he was too busy pulling himself together to retort.
Footsteps came down the hall, quickening across broken pottery. Grimmjow pounded on the bathroom door. “Ulquiorra!,” he called, and there was a note of urgency in his voice, “What the fuck happened here?”
Noitora went to the window, banging against the sliding pane when it wouldn’t open. The sound alerted Grimmjow who pounded against the door again, probably using his shoulder. One of Amra’s pictures fell of the wall and broke from the force he was using.
Noitora panicked.
He busted the window glass with his elbow, unable to get the window itself open as it had probably not been used in years. From his position on the floor, Ulquiorra had a clear view of Grimmjow breaking the door, half-falling through from his own momentum. He looked annoyed that he’d had to break his way in, but the expression slipped from his face when he spotted Ulquiorra, wrists still tied to the piping, shirt hitched up and jeans unzipped with Noitora trying escape above.
Noitora had managed to wiggle half his body out when Grimmjow lunged at him with an angry yell. He grabbed Noitora by his ankles, fumbling for a grip to pull the other man back inside.
“You fucking asshole,” he breathed furiously, “I’m gonna kill you.”
But Noitora heaved once more and kicked out wildly, catching Grimmjow in the jaw. Grimmjow was stunned enough to let go and Noitora pulled his legs through the window, jumped up, and ran like hell across the lawn. Grimmjow turned as if to go after him but Ulquiorra stopped him with a word.
“Grimmjow.”
He said it quietly, without force, but Grimmjow halted instantly, turning his head to meet Ulquiorra’s eyes. His expression was still angry but his blue eyes were filled with other things - guilt, awkwardness, and perhaps a little jealousy.
Ulquiorra uncurled his fingers from where they had been clenched around the pipe.
“Untie me,” he said.
Grimmjow exhaled and knelt by his side, his gaze flickering over his rumpled clothes, the bruises on his face and just visible above his hip. Those were obviously shaped like fingers and the other man’s teeth clenched, his hands shaking with anger as he picked at the rope around Ulquiorra’s wrists.
He sat back when the rope fell away and Ulquiorra sat up, rubbing the welts it had left on his skin. Grimmjow’s chest was still heaving, the other man unable to calm himself.
“I’m going to rip his fucking balls off,” he grit out. Ulquiorra reached up and touched Grimmjow’s jaw where Noitora had kicked him, his fingers barely brushing the skin. Grimmjow stilled at his touch.
“As long as I can watch,” Ulquiorra told him softly.
Grimmjow cleaned up the kitchen while Ulquiorra took a shower. He swept up the broken pieces of Ulquiorra’s tea cup and righted the table and chairs. He found Ulquiorra’s book half concealed underneath the floor cabinets and set it back on the table, as if the smaller man had simply wandered off and left it there. When he was done, he stood in the middle of the room and surveyed it, satisfied that Amra would notice nothing amiss. He’d have to fix the bathroom door, too, but he’d wait until later, after Ulquiorra was finished. They had already decided to tell Amra that a kid had broken the window with a rock. With any luck, Grimmjow would be able to replace the pane tomorrow.
He closed his eyes briefly, suddenly drained.
The image of Ulquiorra lying on the floor, hands tied, with a bruise starting to form on his cheek had burned itself into Grimmjow’s mind. He’d wanted to crush Noitora between his fists, rip him limb from limb until he begged for death. Only Ulquiorra had had the right to stop him and so Grimmjow had obeyed, letting the fucking bastard escape once again.
But the next time they met, one of them would die.
He heard the door to the bathroom creak open and a minute later Ulquiorra appeared. He had changed his clothes, wearing a loose long-sleeved shirt over dark cotton pants. His feet were bare and his hair was damp, as dark as coal against his pale skin. Even without the tear-marks, his features still had a sorrowful air.
“He wanted to defeat me,” Ulquiorra said. His voice had no volume. “Such a thing was not possible for him in Hueco Mundo.”
Grimmjow barked a painful laugh. “But it fucking is here.”
Ulquiorra’s mouth thinned. “A lot of things are possible here.”
Grimmjow breathed out his anger and crossed to him, looking down into his fathomless green eyes. He didn’t know what to say. If they had still been Espada, Ulquiorra could have snapped Noitora’s spine with two fingers, but because they were human…
“It’s not his victory,” Ulquiorra told him quietly, as if he knew what Grimmjow was thinking. “He meant to kill me. He knows he won’t get that chance again.” He tilted his head back then, just a little and his lips parted and Grimmjow bent down as if it were the most natural thing in the world, kissing him slowly.
There was no fire in the kiss as there had been in the library, but a steady warmth filled Grimmjow’s mind and he moved his mouth against Ulquiorra’s languidly, his fingers brushing wet, inky hair.
Ulquorra’s hand came to rest on his chest, his small palm over Grimmjow’s beating heart.
END PART TWO
Title: This Time Around
Series: Bleach
Pairings/Characters: GrimmUlqui, Noitora/Ulquiorra <--[NONCON]
Word Count: 7,261
Rated: NC-17
Parts: [1] [ 2] [ 3]
Notes: Part 2 of 3.
THIS TIME AROUND
Part Two
Ulquiorra was sitting at the kitchen table reading a book when Grimmjow came in through the back door. He smelled of cigarette smoke and wore a sharp grin as he always did after a good shift at work. A week ago, Grimmjow had gotten hired as something called a “bouncer” at a bar in midtown and he loved it. Ulquiorra was sure it was because he was allowed manhandle the patrons when they got out of hand. Still, it was an outlet for the other man’s constant and reckless adrenaline. He was less irritating when he got to punch someone.
“You still readin’ that shit?” the former Sexta Espada asked by way of greeting, ambling over to the refrigerator to get himself a can of beer. That was another thing he had discovered while on the job - alcohol. Ulquiorra didn’t care for it. He also found the little metal tabs impossible to open.
“You’re fortunate Amra isn’t awake to hear that,” Ulquiorra replied impassively, flipping another page. “She would wash your mouth out with soap.”
She’d tried to do it once already but Grimmjow had slithered out of her hold and escaped down the street. He hadn’t returned until the next day.
As if remembering the near horror, Grimmjow shook himself and took a swig of his beer, no doubt to wash the phantom taste of lye out of his mouth. Grimmjow had grown to tolerate their benefactor - they both had - but Grimmjow seemed to see her as more of an overpowering wench. Ulquiorra found her to be rather harmless.
But then again he didn’t use “language” in her presence either.
“What’s it about?” Grimmjow asked, jerking his head at the book and changing the subject. He leaned back against the sink, blue eyes watching calmly. He had refused to learn the difficult writing of the region with its many characters, claiming he didn’t need it, but he always seemed interested in the things Ulquiorra read - or tried to. The former Cuatro Espada could read simple sentences, but anything more than five symbols confused him and that was one of the more annoying human emotions he seemed to be cultivating. He didn’t like the off balance feeling it gave him, as if he couldn’t see correctly. Grimmjow told him it was only to be expected, since a great deal of Ulquiorra’s power had been centered around his eyesight. Even now, in their new, pathetic bodies, his memory was photographic. If he saw it, he could recall it.
“A dog,” Ulquiorra answered evenly. Grimmjow’s lips curled. He hated dogs.
Silence fell then, not uncomfortably. They had grown used to each other in the weeks since they’d come to live with Amra. The strange tension that connected them had subsided a bit, becoming more of a heightened awareness of the other, tempered and almost instinctive. It had been a little uncomfortable at first, but now Ulquiorra barely noticed that he knew without looking when Grimmjow had entered the room. If Grimmjow had the same sort of knowledge, he never said. Ulquiorra counted it as just another odd thing attributed to his new status as a human being.
“I think I saw someone at the bar tonight,” Grimmjow said finally, a reluctant note in his voice. Ulquiorra glanced up at the sound of it. It wasn’t often that Grimmjow hesitated over anything.
“Who?”
The other man set his beer can down on the countertop. “I think it was Noitora.”
Ulquiorra stilled, unprepared for the answer. He had not thought of the other Espada in almost a week. Trying to be human was a taxing process, he hadn’t been able to focus on anything else. Now, though, their past rose up before him like a tidal wave and he felt suddenly drained, as empty as he had been that first day in the rain.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his book, green eyes flickering to Grimmjow again.
“You think,” he repeated. Grimmjow crossed his arms over his chest.
“It was dark,” he said defensively, “I only caught a glimpse, but I’m pretty sure it was him. There’s not too many bastards runnin’ around here with only one eye.” He watched Ulquiorra’s face for a moment before shrugging with just the right amount of carelessness. “He didn’t see me, and even if he did, he’s human now, right? He was in that room along with the rest of us.” He grinned suddenly. “I could take that nosy shit.”
Ulquiorra didn’t reply. There was a new feeling in his gut, a clenching that told him Noitora’s presence at the bar hadn’t been coincidence. How could it have been? The city was large and a former Espada happened to come across the very place Grimmjow worked? Worst of all, it was Noitora, the arrancar who stalked shadows at night and questioned and listened where he shouldn’t be listening. Ulquiorra had not trusted him as an Espada and he did not trust him now as a man.
And if Noitora was in the city, how many others were there? They had all been in that room. Were Aizen and Gin and Tousen still alive or had they been captured by Soul Society? All this time, he and Grimmjow had been living as if everything they had known had been destroyed. They could not go back to Hueco Mundo, not as humans, even if there was something left. With the Hougyoku destroyed, Aizen’s plans had been cast into ruin. It had seemed best, at the time, that he and Grimmjow adapt to their new existence.
Unfortunately, he could not see Noitora doing the same.
“Oi.” Grimmjow was looking at him, eyebrows drawn together. “What are ya thinkin’?”
Ulquiorra stood up silently and tucked his book under his arm. “Nothing. I’m going to sleep.” That was another thing he couldn’t get used to - his body’s need for more than four hours of sleep. It was extremely wasteful.
Grimmjow let him go without an argument and Ulquiorra’s shoulders relaxed.
He didn’t want to explain that, for a moment, he’d almost believed that they were free.
Grimmjow woke to the old Granny poking him in the ribs with her cane.
“Time to be up, dear!” she said with a crinkly smile, “The sun’s been up for hours and we’ve got to get that new mulch around my rosebushes!”
She hobbled out of the room, apparently satisfied that she’d ruined any chance of him going back to sleep. Grimmjow groaned and rubbed his eyes, feeling rather stubborn and uncooperative. Didn’t she know he worked at night? He’d only gone to bed five hours ago!
Grumbling about crotchety old women, he rose blearily from his futon not bothering to glance at Ulquiorra’s. The smaller man never slept more than hour past sunrise, his futon always folded and packed away neatly by the time Grimmjow opened his eyes. He never said anything but Grimmjow knew the former Fourth had a hard time sleeping. Grimmjow found that alcohol worked wonders for that sort of thing.
“I’ve made you some nice bacon and eggs,” Amra chirped at him as he stumbled into the kitchen and he immediately perked up. He’d discovered quickly that, despite her horrible nature, Granny was a good cook. She had quickly discovered what they liked and what they didn’t. Grimmjow was particularly easy to please. Anything with meat in it was good for him.
“Where’s Ulquiorra?” he asked as he took a seat, already shoveling eggs into his mouth. She smiled proudly at him, probably pleased that he’d used a fork.
“I just sent him down to the market. You can probably catch him if you hurry. He might need help carrying the bags back. He’s such a skinny little thing!” She chuckled, the sound as fond as if she’d given birth to him herself. “Would you remind him that we need more milk as well? I think I forgot to put it on the list.”
Forcing himself not to sigh (he was escaping rosebush duty after all), Grimmjow finished his breakfast and went to get dressed, still pulling on his shirt as he went out the back door, crossing the lawn towards the street. The market was only a few blocks away but it was packed as always, children running around, playing in front of carts filled with food and flowers. Grimmjow rather enjoyed the atmosphere - though the lack of brats underfoot would have made him happier - and walked around a little before spotting Ulquiorra in front of an array of vegetables. He was selecting tomatoes as if he actually knew what he was doing, and maybe he did. Amra had been teaching him all sorts of things lately.
“Hey,” he said, stopping next to him. Ulquiorra didn’t look up, running his fingertips over a ripe tomato skin.
“What are you doing here?”
“The witch told me to tell ya we need milk,” he relayed grumpily, trying to figure how Ulquiorra was deciding which tomatoes to put into a paper sack. They all looked red to him.
Ulquiorra straightened and glanced across the street towards the dairy stand. “Here,” he said, and handed Grimmjow a few paper bills.
Grimmjow’s eyebrows rose. “You want me ta get it?”
Ulquiorra started at him, expressionless. “Why not?”
“Ya know I’m not good with this stuff,” he grumbled, turning the money this way and that as if it might suddenly make sense. He didn’t understand the counting system in that place. Ulquiorra was the one who could do sums in his head and read prices.
“It’s enough,” the dark-haired man said, turning back to his vegetables. “They’ll give you change.”
Muttering to himself, Grimmjow waited for the sign to cross and headed over for a gallon of milk. Ulquiorra was, of course, right and he got some back. He was tempted to try a buy another pack of beer with the leftover money but hell if he was going to ask Ulquiorra if he had enough. The former Fourth had taken one sip of beer and given Grimmjow a glare cold enough to melt iceburgs. Ulquiorra had stuck to tea ever since.
Grimmjow walked back to the street corner, two fingers through the loops of the plastic bag, and found Ulquiorra waiting for him on his side of the street, a paper bag of various food items in his arms.
“Waitin’ for me?” Grimmjow drawled, grinning. Ulquiora gave him a flat look.
“Hardly. I came to make sure you didn’t buy any beer.”
Grimmjow scowled and tried to look offended. He was sure Ulquiorra didn’t buy it.
They stood together and waited for the signal to cross back over, Grimmjow suddenly hyper aware of the small figure next to him. It was still strange to see Ulquiorra in human clothes, his ink-black hair uncovered by the lack of a mask, his pale cheeks free of the tearful lines. Grimmjow hated to admit it, even to himself, but his once superior was very easy on the eyes. Humans seemed to think so, too. Not less than a half a dozen girls had approached him in the weeks they had been there, flirting not so subtly. Ulquiorra was usually oblivious to these attempts but Grimmjow was a little better about reading such things. He didn’t need any book to tell him what those girls wanted.
Next to him, Ulquiorra moved forward, stepping down off the curb.
Grimmjow had sent the little human females on their way, naturally. They didn’t need that fucking up their lives. They had plenty of shit doing that al-
A horn honked and Grimmjow’s attention snapped back to reality, a scene in which Ulquiorra was stepping out into a street where traffic was not going to stop. The light hadn’t changed yet.
Something tightened in Grimmjow’s chest, and he reached out quickly, grabbing Ulquiorra’s elbow and yanking him harshly out of the path of a blaring taxi. Ulquiorra’s slight body fell heavily against his side and the paper bag of groceries fell to the sidewalk, miraculously remaining upright.
Grimmjow took two seconds to start breathing again before exploding angrily.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he snapped, still gripping Ulquiorra’s elbow. Ulquiorra looked up at him and Grimmjow could see that he was startled by the near miss, a little bewildered. Grimmjow probably should have let it go then but the incident had made his heart start pounding and he couldn’t think over the sound of it in his ears. “Are you a fuckin’ idiot? You coulda been-“
He cut off as Ulquiorra regained control of himself, pulling his arm from Grimmjow’s grip. “I’m not an idiot,” he said icily, bending to pick up the fallen bag. “There were people walking.”
There probably had been. A few humans would to dart out if they saw an opportunity. Grimmjow couldn’t gauge things like that so he always waited for the light to tell him when to cross. That had been one of the first things Amra had taught him, one of the less annoying ones.
The light did flash then and Ulquiorra crossed without waiting for him, leaving Grimmjow to catch up, still furious without really knowing why.
They walked the rest of the way back in silence.
Grimmjow didn’t see Ulquiorra for the next two days. He took longer shifts at the bar and so by the time he got back, the other man was already asleep, and when he rose in the morning, Ulquiorra was already out, usually at the library. He wasn’t exactly sure why they were avoiding each other but he knew it had to do with the weird tension that had resurfaced, the way he had gripped Ulquiorra’s elbow to pull him back to safety.
It was frustrating the hell out of him.
And then there were the dreams.
For the last two nights he’d had dreams of ebony hair and lidded green eyes, the feel of smooth skin against his. That day on the street replied in his mind’s eye, only when Ulquiorra fell against him he could feel every angle of the other man’s body and Ulquiorra’s eyes were filled with a dark, heated lust.
It was driving him bloody insane.
So on the third day, he sought Ulquiorra out.
After work he went to the library, which he knew was open twenty-four hours because Amra had told him. There was a minor setback when he saw how large the place was but he set out along the first floor, looking down the aisles and aisles of books for one familiar form.
He eventually found Ulquiorra on the second floor, where the aisles were not so close together and there were ladders that slid along the tall bookcases, everything made of dark, polished wood. He was sitting on one of the ladders, one leg drawn up on one of the rungs, the other straight out, his foot a couple inches from the floor.
Suprisingly, Grimmjow didn’t have to say word. Ulquiorra looked up from the book in his hands the moment he appeared, as if he’d somehow known that Grimmjow was there. His eyes were bright in the dim lighting of the room, one of the buttons on his shirt undone in concession to the warm temperature.
They stared at each other for a long, strained minute, neither backing down. The air between them fizzled and Grimmjow thought he felt electricity run along his skin. Then he was crossing the room in long, sure strides, planting his hands on either side of the ladder, locking Ulquiorra between them.
“Fuck this,” he growled, and leaned down and kissed him.
Grimmjow didn’t think about it, he simply pushed his mouth against Ulquiorra’s, his hands gripping the ladder on either side of the smaller man’s head. It was a hard kiss and Ulquiorra made a sound in his throat, trapped as he was against its rungs.
But he did not jerk his head away and Grimmjow slanted his body closer, one hand leaving the side of the ladder to thread through Ulquiorra’s charcoal hair, soft strands trapped between his fingers. Grimmjow ran his tongue along Ulquiorra’s lips and felt them open, giving him access to the moist cavern of Ulquiorra’s mouth. The kiss turned into something else then, something more fierce, and Ulquiorra’s book fell to the floor as one of the man’s hands curled around Grimmjow’s neck, the other gripping the front of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric.
Their lips moved against one another’s as their tongues danced, Ulquiorra’s breath warm and quick against Grimmjow’s cheek. The smaller man was completely pressed against the ladder, the rungs against his back as Grimmjow closed the remaining space between them, his body pressed between Ulquiorra’s legs. Grimmjow’s right hand moved of its own accord, running down over Ulquiorra’s bony hip to the hem of his shirt and underneath, hitching the fabric up so that he could touch the incredibly smooth skin of his stomach. Ulquiorra gasped at the feel of his fingers, breaking their kiss, and Grimmjow slipped his mouth down to the other man’s neck, lavishing the equally soft skin there with his tongue.
“Grimmjow.” Ulquiorra’s voice was almost nonexistent and he had both hands tangled in Grimmjow’s bright hair, his neck tilted just enough to give Grimmjow better access. Grimmjow nuzzled against Ulquiorra’s collar, nudging the material aside in order to suck and nip on his clavicle. Ulquiorra’s breath hitched and Grimmjow felt his cock harden at the erotic sound, his erection against Ulquiorra’s thigh.
“Grimmjow,” Ulquiorra said again, his name this time accompanied by a jerk on his hair to get his attention. Grimmjow groaned, his mind too fuzzy to stop.
“What?” he mumbled, moving the hand inside Ulquiorra’s shirt down to grab the smaller man’s ass. This time, Grimmjow felt the evidence of Ulquiorra’s burgeoning erection and felt his own body temperature rise in answer. Fuck but he had never felt so good.
“We can’t…” Ulquiorra broke off as Grimmjow licked his ear, his tongue dipping inside the delicate shell. His reward was another breathless sound from Ulquiorra and Grinnjow grinned, moving his lips to the sensitive skin behind his ear. The lithe body beneath him shuddered deliciously but Ulquiorra somehow found the strength to protest again, his dark voice no longer stiff and in control. “Not here, Grimmjow…”
Grimmjow groaned again, knowing he was right. The library was hardly private and there were things Grimmjow really wanted to do to Ulquiorra that were for no one’s eyes but their own.
With a tremendous effort of will, he dropped his head into the curve of Ulquiorra’s neck, not teasing the skin there but simply giving himself a moment. His body was screaming at him in rebellion, wanting nothing more than to fuck Ulquiorra right there against that ladder no matter who might see them. He could feel Ulquiorra breathing heavily beneath him, too, his fingers resting lightly on the back of Grimmjow’s neck.
Grimmjow took another minute to think about ice and cold showers and those penguin-things Ulquiorra had read about once.
When they finally broke apart, Ulquiorra straightened his clothes and Grimmjow bent and picked up his fallen book, handing it back to him and clearing his throat. Their fingers brushed as it passed between them.
They walked together out of the library a little faster than was normal and the entire way Grimmjow never stopped grinning.
The awkward tension that had plagued them for days was gone.
When they got to the house, however, things didn’t go according to plan.
Just as they were rounding the corner to the back yard, Grimmjow so filled with anticipation he could hardly think straight, they heard the sound of glass shattering and someone running on the sidewalk. Then Amra’s voice cried out and Ulquiorra broke into a run, Grimmjow only a step behind. How much easier it would have been if they could have used sonido. As it was, they reached the house just as a dark figure burst out onto the street, took one look at them, and ran the other way.
Ulquiorra didn’t so much as pause, but ran after the intruder, a slim, silent shape in the night. Grimmjow had a moment of indecision before he turned into the yard and took the steps two at a time, bursting through the back door, ready for a fight.
There was glass in the kitchen, scattered over the countertops from the window above the sink. A brick lay on the floor and Grimmjow grit his teeth at the sight of it, his hands curling into fists.
“Oi!” he called, “Granny!”
It took a second but he heard her answer, feeble and upset, “Grimmjow?”
He found her in her bedroom. The bastards had knocked her down and she had glass in her hair but was otherwise in one piece. He pulled her to her feet, his voice rock hard.
“Who was it?”
“Two men,” she said, her voice quavering. “They broke the window in the kitchen. It startled me so bad…” She trailed off, a hand over her chest as if it pained her. “The back door wasn’t locked… They came right in…”
Grimmjow had heard enough. Two, she’d said.
He pivoted and left her there, heading towards the back room when someone hurtled out of the bathroom and he crashed against the far wall. There was a hot, swift of line of pain down his arm and he pushed the guy away with a roar. Blood dripped down Grimmjow’s fingers but he ignored it, using his other to punch the bastard in the face, watching him fall back with satisfaction.
“You son of a bitch,” he yelled, punctuating the last word with a kick to the intruder’s stomach. The guy, all in black and with a ski mask over his face, coughed and tried to kick out at him as well. Grimmjow stomped down on his ankle with all his weight and heard something snap, the guy screaming even as he swung his arm around and pointed a gun at Grimmjow’s chest.
Grimmjow had watched enough television to know what it was. He flung himself to the side, sliding across the wooden floor into the spare bedroom just as the gun went off, the report inhumanly loud in his ears. Amra wailed at the sound and the guy ran past the bedroom door, limply slightly, the gun still in his hand. The back door opened and slammed shut but Grimmjow didn’t follow. He knew hands and fists and the cool blades of swords, not guns.
Instead, he picked himself up and went back to Amra, the old lady gasping when she saw the long cut on his arm.
“They hurt you,” she said, and she sounded so honestly grieved over it that he shifted uncomfortably.
“It ain’t bad,” he said dismissively. “You?”
“I’m alright.” Her eyes flickered up to his worriedly. “Where’s Orra?”
Grimmjow’s stomach sank. He’d let Ulquiorra go alone, forgetting that they were no longer the fourth and sixth Espada, but ordinary humans with no amazing powers or strength. The gun had brought everything into perfect clarity, however. Ulquiorra who, just a few days ago had almost been hit by a car, could be just as easily hurt as Grimmjow had been. Why hadn’t he gone with him?
“Shit.”
He turned, ready to head out and search the streets for the other man, when he heard footsteps on the back stairs and the door opened again. A few seconds later, Ulquiorra appeared, stopping at the end of the hallway when he noticed Grimmjow. His green eyes went immediately to his wounded hand.
“You’re bleeding,” he said quietly. Grimmjow gave a strange laugh born of relief and incredulity. Ulquiorra didn’t have a mark on him.
“Bastard cut me with a knife,” he answered, still staring at the other man. Ulquiorra came to him then and all of Grimmjow’s muscles relaxed as he neared, the other man’s gaze shifting into the room to Amra. She smiled crookedly to his unspoken question.
“I’m alright.” She shuffled towards them, tsking in her usual manner over Grimmjow’s arm. “We’ll need to get that stitched up and…” she faltered, tilted her head back to eye the bullet hole in the ceiling, “…the police…”
Ulquiorra spoke, quietly, controlled. “You call the police, Amra. I will take Grimmjow to the hospital.”
She nodded immediately, seeming relieved to leave the decisions up to him. “Of course, Orra. You’re absolutely right. I’ll just see about…” She trailed off again, moving into the kitchen to use the phone. Grimmjow kept his eyes on Ulquiorra, watching him carefully.
“You have something to tell me,” he stated. Ulquiorra turned away.
“Follow me.”
They went out the front, crossing the lawn silently. They were about four blocks from the hospital when Ulquiorra finally spoke.
“It was Noitora,” he said dully. Grimmjow felt something hot spike behind his eyes.
“What?”
“I saw him,” Ulquiorra continued. “I chased him five blocks. He wasn’t wearing a mask. I saw his face in the street lights.” He had gotten away, of course. Grimmjow could tell by the stiff way Ulquiorra was speaking, frustrated with their helplessness.
“Then the guy in the house…” Grimmjow started. Ulquiorra finished for him.
“Was most likely another Espada.”
Grimmjow shook his head. “What the fuck are they up to?” he growled. Ulquiorra had no answer for him.
The hospital on that side of town was rather small and the emergency room was crowded. The two of them were jostled by mothers with sick kids and people holding their stomachs while old folks coughed and hacked. Grimmjow left Ulquiorra sitting in a plastic chair next to a window while he went up front to the important looking nurse behind a desk. She bombarded him with paperwork and questions and he came back to Ulquiorra with only one important piece of information.
“It’s gonna be awhile.”
It didn’t really bother him. The cut burned a little but the blood had clotted and was no longer leaving a trail on the floor. Something flickered in Ulquiorra’s eyes at the news, however, and he got up and disappeared the way Grimmjow had come. He was back in five minutes and nodded at Grimmjow.
“They’re ready for you.”
Grimmjow flashed his teeth in a grin and followed the smaller man into the back, wondering just what exactly Ulquiorra had said or done to get him moved to the head of the line.
There was a lot of fussing and preparation, and the nurse cleaned the wound with something that made him hiss. They gave him a shot and poked at the long cut for awhile before sewing the skin together.
Thirteen stitches. An unlucky number, someone said. Grimmjow snorted.
It suited him just fine.
Ulquiorra stood outside the exam room while Grimmjow was being seen to. He didn’t like the sterile smell of the place or the never-ending white. It reminded him of a desolate world made of sand and alabaster stone, of shadowed halls and would-be gods. The last few days he’d discovered that he preferred fresh air and the ability to decide for himself where to go, what to do. It was a priceless thing to be able to choose his own destiny.
The one consolation to being trapped in a body that was less than he was.
“Excuse me, have you seen my wife?”
Ulquiorra turned his head only slightly, one green eye taking in the thin, transparent outline of the man next to him. He was relatively young, dressed in a suit and wearing glasses. He was looking at Ulquiorra hopefully.
Ulquiorra closed his eyes. “No,” he answered, I haven’t.”
Only when he felt the ghost pass by did he open his eyes again, keeping them trained on the pale, tiled floor. It was not the first time he had seen a spirit. The library had quite a few in some of its more dusty corners. He seen them the moment he’d entered the hospital as well, littering the emergency room like remnants of memories. He supposed it was logical that his reiatsu was high enough to see souls, given his background. It was strange, though, that Grimmjow could not. Of if he had, that he hadn’t mentioned it before.
High levels of spiritual power were also a magnet for Hollows.
And where Hollows went, so did shinigami.
The door opened behind him and Grimmjow came out looking irritable, as always. His arm was wrapped and cleaned and he seemed himself again.
“What a pain,” he grumbled as they left, picking at the edge of his bandages. “All that fuss for a scratch.”
“Leave it alone,” Ulquiorra advised flatly, “You’re going to make it worse.”
Grimmjow glared at him but dropped his hand away from it, walking in silence with him down the sidewalk. It was a quiet time of night, the sound of traffic in the distance, the beat of their shoes against the concrete. Ulquiorra found himself remembering what had happened in the library, Grimmjow pressing him against the ladder, hot and insistent. Ulquiorra had been surprised but the feeling had quickly dissolved and he’d known that that moment had been building up between them.
The heat of that encounter had been banked for now with the events of the night. They arrived at the house to find that the police had come and gone, that Amra had gone to bed. They followed her example, unrolling their futons and bringing out blankets. Grimmjow took his shirt off before lying down and Ulquiorra averted his eyes, dropping down on top of his sheets with a quiet sigh.
“They know where we are now,” Grimmjow said eventually, his eyes closed, his voice pitched low. It was ridiculously easy for him to fall asleep these days. “They’ll be back.”
Ulquiorra rested his head on his arm, shifting slightly. “We will be ready,” he returned, feeling like his old self in that instant, utterly sure that he was correct.
The hard lump of the knife in his pocket helped.
Ulquiorra was alone in the house when Grimmjow’s prediction came true.
Amra had gone to the doctor. Ulquiorra had walked with her to the bus stop and she had patted him on the arm in goodbye, telling him she’d be back in a couple of hours. He’d returned to make himself a cup of tea and struggle through the last half of Tom Sawyer. His reading was getting better but it was still painfully slow at times. Tom had just gotten lost in the cave when a shadow fell over the dog-eared pages and he looked up, blinking slowly as he always did when someone interrupted him reading.
Noitora was standing in the doorway.
He was smiling, dressed in regular human clothes with a cloth patch over one eye. He stepped inside casually, never taking his eyes off Ulquiorra, his expression that of a predator’s.
“Good afternoon, Ulquiorra-san.”
Every muscle in Ulquiorra’s body tensed and in a split second he threw his cup of tea straight at the other man’s face, and reached for the knife he always kept in his pocket. Noitora dodged the flying cup and it shattered against the far wall behind him. He then launched himself over the table at Ulquiorra, knocking them both backwards and making the table collapse.
The back of Ulquiorra’s chair hit the floor and his head hit the bottom of the cupboards, dazing him long enough for Noitora to get on top of him. The former fifth Espada grinned wildly as he trapped Ulquiorra’s arms against the floor, tying his wrists together with a rope he took out of his jacket.
“I’ve been planning this for a long time,” Noitora told him, his fingers tightening the knots. “Back before we were cast into this miserable place. I thought it was too good to be true when I saw Grimmjow in that bar and learned you were with him.” He laughed, a harsh sound. “I never would have thought you’d be the type to submit.”
Ulquiorra’s vision was clearing. The knife was still in his pocket. With a huff of effort, he rolled, pushing Noitora off of him and kicking out at the other man at the same time. Noitora backed up and Ulquiorra was able to get to his hands and knees before Noitora came back, punching him in the side while gripping Ulquiorra’s tied hands.
Ulquiorra sagged against him, his knees buckling from the hard blow, the breath rushing from his lungs. Noitora laughed again and dragged him from the room still gasping for air. The other man took him to the bathroom, pushing him down with enough force to make his head smack against the cold tiles and locking the door behind him. Then he was straddling Ulquiorra’s waist and leaning over to tie his hands to one of the drainage pipes coming out of the wall, tightening the rope until Ulquiorra felt the coarse strands break his skin, blood welling along his wrists. Noitora’s tongue licked his cheek, his breath smelling of old wine.
“How does it feel, Cuatro?” Noitora said the former rank with a sneer. “You used to think yourself so far above me. How does it feel to be underneath me now, helpless and weak?”
There was a growing bulge in Noitora’s pants and the feel of it chased the last of the fuzziness from Ulquiorra’s mind. He stared up at Noitora icily, ignoring the rapid fluttering of his heart that almost hurt it was beating so fast. Noitora was much taller than him but he was just as lanky as Ulquiorra. Why did the other man have so much more strength?
“No, Noitora,” he replied, “It was you who thought yourself so far below me. You were embarrassed of your rank, just as you were an embarrassment to the Espada.”
Noitora hissed, his single eye narrowing angrily. “I would not say such things if I were in your position,” he snapped. “I think it’s time you were taught a lesson.”
Still straddling him, Noitora reached down and hitched up Ulquiorra’s shirt with the concentration of someone who was finally getting a well-deserved revenge. He ran a long-fingered hand over the smooth skin of Ulquiorra’s stomach, his mouth widening into a horrible smile. He chuckled.
“Such a pretty little human, aren’t you?” he said.
Then he was pulling down the zipper of Ulquiorra’s jeans, his hand reaching in to stroke Ulquiorra’s cock. The former fourth Espada jerked and shifted away, straining the ropes binding him. The other man growled in annoyance and slapped him, turning his head sharply to the right. But Ulquiorra was very aware of what was happening now.
In retaliation, he brought his knee up, slamming his kneecap into Noitora’s kidney. The other man bent over, groaning, but he kept his position, leaning back to let his full weight trap Ulquiorra’s legs. His fist landed square against Ulquiorra’s newly exposed abdomen and Ulquiorra gasped, trying to curl inwards but unable to with Noitora’s on top of him. Dizzy and hurting, he barely felt Noitora divest him of his jeans, pushing them down past his knees with impatient hands. Then went his underwear and he was abruptly lying half-naked on the cold, dusty bathroom floor with Noitora smirking above him.
The other man lifted himself just enough to reach back and pry Ulquiorra’s legs apart, settling himself between pale thighs, his hand going for his own zipper. He moved quickly and Ulquiorra tried to knee him again but his feet were caught in his jeans. Noitora was already hard, the exhilaration of the struggle enough to get him excited. He put two fingers in his mouth and sucked on them, lavishing them with saliva until they were dripping wetly. Ulquiorra felt a tendril of nausea rising in the back of his throat.
“You know,” Noitora said, leaning down to fumble at Ulquiorra’s entrance, “you should thank me. This would really hurt otherwise.” He stabbed his fingers inside in one, cruel jerk and Ulquiorra bit down on his tongue, his mouth filling with blood. The invading digits moved, scissoring back and forth, and Ulquiorra’s lower body burned with discomfort and pain. He stiffened and tried to twist away but Noitora grabbed his hip and pushed down on him more heavily, holding him captive. The other man soon added a third finger and Ulquiorra could not stop the small sound that escaped him, born of pain and anger. Noitora laughed.
“It’s only what you deserve,” he said, his voice somehow hot and cold at once. “Aizen’s precious little arrancar. You’re not so special now, are you?”
Then Noitora leaned over and Ulquiorra could feel him pressing his cock inside, pushing against the natural tightness of Ulquiorra’s body. Ulquiorra forced himself not to make a sound, to glare with cold fury as his enemy moved within him, Ulquiorra’s thighs trembling with the effort it took not to scream.
Noitora had no compunctions about voicing his pleasure. He groaned with every push, practically panting as he forced himself as deep as he could, his fingers gripping the bones of Ulquiorra’s pelvis hard enough to bruise. He stopped only a moment to catch his breath and then he lifted Ulquiorra’s left leg awkwardly for better access and withdrew only to push in again, this time with more violence.
Ulquiorra choked, his eyes wide as he stared at the cracked ceiling, his impeccable vision turning gray at the edges. It might have been a blessing to pass out, but he was too much of a soldier to take the easy path. He lay there silently, grunting every now and then with the growing force of Noitora’s thrusts. The other man ignored him, intent on the ecstasy overtaking his new body, on proving his superiority. He groaned and panted and once leaned down to lavish Ulquiorra’s thin chest with his tongue, lapping and biting at his nipples.
Ulquiorra let him, knowing that everything, all of it, was just a power play. Noitora was just as confused as the rest of them. He had always wanted to defeat Ulquiorra and, since he had never been able to accomplish that as an Espada, he was trying to do it now as a human being.
Ulquiorra despised him.
“You are trash,” Ulquiorra whispered, the words lost on Noitora who was deep in the throes of his pitiful mortal body. He was moving quicker and quicker, thrusting with wild abandon. Ulquiorra felt an answering heat in his own stomach but it was dull and half-hearted against the continuous hum of pain.
Soon enough, Noitora stiffened and made a strangled noise as warmth spilled into Ulquiorra’s body. The other man pulled out, leaking over Ulquiorra’s thigh, and collapsed against his chest, lethargic in his satisfaction. He laughed after a moment, the sound grating on Ulquiorra’s nerves.
“Who knew you were such a great fuck? No wonder Aizen spent so much time with you.”
Ulquiorra kept his gaze on the ceiling. Aizen had touched him before, that was true, but he had never done what Noitora had. He had never tried to overpower him, force him to submit. Ulquiorra had been loyal to him because of that.
“Are you ignoring me, Cuatro?” Noitora leaned up, his mocking face filling up his field of vision. Ulquiorra had no choice but to focus on him as Noitora’s mouth pressed over his, his tongue sloppily forcing its way between Ulquiorra’s teeth.
The former fourth Espada didn’t waste a moment in biting down on the foreign tongue, watching with satisfaction as Noitora pulled away with a muffled howl, one hand over his mouth as his eyes glared murderously.
Whatever he might have said or done was interrupted as someone called out from the front of the house
“Oi! Ulquiorra?.”
A tendril of fear moved across Noitora’s face and the other man hurriedly straightened his clothes, zipping up his pants and then disentangling himself from Ulquiorra. Surprisingly, he then pulled Ulquiorra’s jeans back up haphazardly, as if he didn’t want Grimmjow to know what he had done.
“You’re afraid of him,” Ulquiorra said, in a flash of understanding. Noitora managed a glare for him but he was too busy pulling himself together to retort.
Footsteps came down the hall, quickening across broken pottery. Grimmjow pounded on the bathroom door. “Ulquiorra!,” he called, and there was a note of urgency in his voice, “What the fuck happened here?”
Noitora went to the window, banging against the sliding pane when it wouldn’t open. The sound alerted Grimmjow who pounded against the door again, probably using his shoulder. One of Amra’s pictures fell of the wall and broke from the force he was using.
Noitora panicked.
He busted the window glass with his elbow, unable to get the window itself open as it had probably not been used in years. From his position on the floor, Ulquiorra had a clear view of Grimmjow breaking the door, half-falling through from his own momentum. He looked annoyed that he’d had to break his way in, but the expression slipped from his face when he spotted Ulquiorra, wrists still tied to the piping, shirt hitched up and jeans unzipped with Noitora trying escape above.
Noitora had managed to wiggle half his body out when Grimmjow lunged at him with an angry yell. He grabbed Noitora by his ankles, fumbling for a grip to pull the other man back inside.
“You fucking asshole,” he breathed furiously, “I’m gonna kill you.”
But Noitora heaved once more and kicked out wildly, catching Grimmjow in the jaw. Grimmjow was stunned enough to let go and Noitora pulled his legs through the window, jumped up, and ran like hell across the lawn. Grimmjow turned as if to go after him but Ulquiorra stopped him with a word.
“Grimmjow.”
He said it quietly, without force, but Grimmjow halted instantly, turning his head to meet Ulquiorra’s eyes. His expression was still angry but his blue eyes were filled with other things - guilt, awkwardness, and perhaps a little jealousy.
Ulquiorra uncurled his fingers from where they had been clenched around the pipe.
“Untie me,” he said.
Grimmjow exhaled and knelt by his side, his gaze flickering over his rumpled clothes, the bruises on his face and just visible above his hip. Those were obviously shaped like fingers and the other man’s teeth clenched, his hands shaking with anger as he picked at the rope around Ulquiorra’s wrists.
He sat back when the rope fell away and Ulquiorra sat up, rubbing the welts it had left on his skin. Grimmjow’s chest was still heaving, the other man unable to calm himself.
“I’m going to rip his fucking balls off,” he grit out. Ulquiorra reached up and touched Grimmjow’s jaw where Noitora had kicked him, his fingers barely brushing the skin. Grimmjow stilled at his touch.
“As long as I can watch,” Ulquiorra told him softly.
Grimmjow cleaned up the kitchen while Ulquiorra took a shower. He swept up the broken pieces of Ulquiorra’s tea cup and righted the table and chairs. He found Ulquiorra’s book half concealed underneath the floor cabinets and set it back on the table, as if the smaller man had simply wandered off and left it there. When he was done, he stood in the middle of the room and surveyed it, satisfied that Amra would notice nothing amiss. He’d have to fix the bathroom door, too, but he’d wait until later, after Ulquiorra was finished. They had already decided to tell Amra that a kid had broken the window with a rock. With any luck, Grimmjow would be able to replace the pane tomorrow.
He closed his eyes briefly, suddenly drained.
The image of Ulquiorra lying on the floor, hands tied, with a bruise starting to form on his cheek had burned itself into Grimmjow’s mind. He’d wanted to crush Noitora between his fists, rip him limb from limb until he begged for death. Only Ulquiorra had had the right to stop him and so Grimmjow had obeyed, letting the fucking bastard escape once again.
But the next time they met, one of them would die.
He heard the door to the bathroom creak open and a minute later Ulquiorra appeared. He had changed his clothes, wearing a loose long-sleeved shirt over dark cotton pants. His feet were bare and his hair was damp, as dark as coal against his pale skin. Even without the tear-marks, his features still had a sorrowful air.
“He wanted to defeat me,” Ulquiorra said. His voice had no volume. “Such a thing was not possible for him in Hueco Mundo.”
Grimmjow barked a painful laugh. “But it fucking is here.”
Ulquiorra’s mouth thinned. “A lot of things are possible here.”
Grimmjow breathed out his anger and crossed to him, looking down into his fathomless green eyes. He didn’t know what to say. If they had still been Espada, Ulquiorra could have snapped Noitora’s spine with two fingers, but because they were human…
“It’s not his victory,” Ulquiorra told him quietly, as if he knew what Grimmjow was thinking. “He meant to kill me. He knows he won’t get that chance again.” He tilted his head back then, just a little and his lips parted and Grimmjow bent down as if it were the most natural thing in the world, kissing him slowly.
There was no fire in the kiss as there had been in the library, but a steady warmth filled Grimmjow’s mind and he moved his mouth against Ulquiorra’s languidly, his fingers brushing wet, inky hair.
Ulquorra’s hand came to rest on his chest, his small palm over Grimmjow’s beating heart.
END PART TWO